When God Prays…

“After He dismissed them, He went up on a mountainside by Himself to pray.  When evening came He was there alone.”  (Matthew 14:23)

When Jesus wanted to talk to His father in heaven it was easier to do so away from

The crowds of sick folk waiting to be healed,

Disciples asking question after question,

Multitudes clamoring to be fed,

Authorities waiting to pounce.

I too would also go to a quiet place to talk to my parents who lived thousands of miles, and a day away, in Broadstairs, England.

I would curl up on my glider in the garden removed from the bustle of the house.

Hide myself in the back forty to escape the playful noises of the pool.

Wander through my autumn garden absently pulling weeds and dead-heading marigolds to ignore the distraction of email.

By secluding myself I could make room for whatever my mother or father needed to tell me, their worries, their lives, their joys, their griefs, their advancing age.

Their voices would narrow the gap between us and we’d draw closer through the spoken word, or Daddy’s distinct breathing down the extension line where he’d sit and mostly listen.

After an hour I would feel refreshed by their essence.

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So too when I pray, it is best that I find a solitary place. (Mark 1:35)

The quiet of the juniper grove at the entrance to our property,

Under the stars in the back fairway,

In earshot of the cows along a sleepy lane,

On a beach with the roar of the waves.

During this final week of Advent, as I continue to empty myself completely in readiness for God to indwell me, I remember the foundation I laid in my children’s hearts.

The scripture we studied every day, the memorized prayers, the recited psalms and the hymns we sang.

My thoughts come to rest on a time my teacher daughter was ill in bed.

The treasure we had laid up in her childhood came to light unbidden, like a pool of water gathered in the foothills of a rugged range offering refreshment on a heavy summer’s day.

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We were sitting by her as she slept when her eyes fluttered open and she held out her hands to us.  We bowed our heads and prayed.

The old favorites filled her mouth with laughter and she began to murmur all the sacred texts she had learned as a child.

I felt the presence of God flowing from her,

Praying…

Delivering words of comfort from her heart, where once, many years ago, she had said Jesus lived.

She whispered her beloved Latin prayer,

“Domine, non sum dignus, ut intres sub tectum meum, sed tantum dic verbum, et sanabitur anima mea.”

“Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof, but only say the word, and my soul shall be healed.”

Tears of revelation prick my eyes at the memory and I know at once that when I pour myself out and invite God in He sets up home…

…and stays.

He rejoices with me in the uncluttered silence of my soul and lifts me up in prayer.

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1 Comments

Pamela

2015-12-23 23:00:22 Reply

What a beautiful prayer for all of us to read and to quiet our souls.

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